Never An Easy Choice
by addine995
Summary: "Our choices are never easy". "Good bye, Mother". She would always play someone else's game. All she knew was that she never really lived. She was wearing a veil, and no one was allowed to see underneath. Not even Rose. Ruth's back-story. TW: Mental abuse. Please R&R
1. Τhe woman in the picture

She never slept on that night.

She couldn't close her eyes. She was afraid of her own dreams.

Or nightmares.

"The ghosts always go out at midnight."

No one had to know. Not even her husband.

It'd be her birthday today. She'd be 27 years old.

Perhaps she was...

Ruth never found out.

For now, she needed some fresh air. Sitting on the living room, staring blankly at the wall opposite.

The window was open. She didn't care about the cold or the rain. She only wanted to breathe... Perhaps welcome the ghosts even.

Her ghost was always welcome here.

Her picture was on the coffee table next to her. She hardly looked at it. But she felt, the picture was staring at her.

There were days when she felt it wanted to speak to her. The girl on the picture...

She remembered that night.

The voices...The fear... Her voices... Her daughter...

 _Goodbye, Mother..._

 _Rose, come back here!_

She had wanted her to be safe. She wanted her close to her all that time. But the gap couldn't have been bridged.

She had ran out of time.

She had realized that night. As she had been staring at the ship going down. Her daughter's laughter in her ears. That childish sound.

For once she had hoped; she had prayed...

Rose had been stubborn...

Rose...

She had promised never to mention her name again... She owed it to her sanity. Whatever remained of it. She could feel her close.

The picture fell. Lying on the coffee table.

It shouldn't lie there...It was a crime; a sin...

Ruth picked it up. She touched the picture. For the first time in five years.

 _"The ghosts always go out at midnight."_

Her voice... The moment she held the picture, she heard her...

Her daughter...

Her first cries.

Her childish laughter.

Her fine French accent.

Her shouting...

 _"Good bye, Mother..."_

Most of all, the way she had been calling her Mother.. Happily... then disapprovingly... then angry...

Why does she have to be punished like that?

Oh but she knew why.

Her ghost went out at midnight.

 _"Tell me, Mother."_

She could hear her. Her voice deeper due to the years and the cigars. Similar to hers when she was young...'

 _"Tell me all... Tell me what I need to know... "_

She closed her eyes. Tried to keep the tears away. She had the chance... She shouldn't lose it...

* * *

I've grown old, dear.

I am no longer the girl I used to be.

I don't even remember the day I looked into the mirror and didn't recognize me. I don't remember that change taking place.

Mysterious as it is, the older I grew, the more similar we looked.

People would say they see me in you. That's a lie.

I'd look at you and see Henry.

Of course you remember him as a white-haired man with a beard.

I wish I had pictures of his younger days to show you. But he disliked photographs with all his might.

You adored them. So did I.

I remember the day I had taken you to a photographer's to have your picture taken.

You were 3 years old.

I still have that photograph. I look at it every night before I go to sleep.

I am reminded of happier times.

When your father was alive.

When you were still with me.

Something, deep inside, tells me you are all right. That you are alive.

But my mind tells me otherwise.

You might not want to see me again. I can respect that.

As much as it hurts.

I understand your reasons behind it.

But first, let me tell you a story.

A rather sad one.

I've never told anyone.

But I can't keep any more secrets from you.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey, I'm back! This fanfic started from a headcanon on mine concerning Rose and Ruth (which I won't say yet ;P). I didn't want to publish it just yet but I was so excited for it :) For those who are reading Left Outside Alone: I am currently editing it, and I only have, like, 7 chapters left, but I am making some changes to the plot and this whole un-plotting and re-plotting thing takes time, so :P  
**

 **Please review!**


	2. A Princess' Tale

I was born on 1870. On a summer day, ironically. The first girl and second child, the daughter of Caroline Alice Hepburn, nee Jørgensen and Eric Harvey Hepburn. I was born in Washington DC. Where Father's family would live for a good 80 years now.

Your uncle was already two years old when I joined him in the nursery. I was told to be the living image of my mother. Fiery red hair, green-blue eyes. A scarlet beauty, Mother would say. Wild and free.

My parents would be yet another couple of the high society. Married out of convenience, they seemed to stand each other enough to share the same house.

I was raised into a strict religious household. Father insisted on making us recite parts of the Bible, every other night; God was our greatest fear. His Irish routes had never left him. Mother was of Danish ancestry, the descendant of nobility having moved to America after the loss of their fortune. They had managed to regain their money, but they were removed of their title. Not that it mattered really. But their origins were important to them. My maternal grandmother had named me Ruth, to be reminded of "home", she'd say.

I was taught French, embroidery and music at a very young age. My brother was raised differently. He was taught German, sword fighting and maths. Poor William, how he hated the latter!

He'd tell me all at nights, both hidden in our nursery, whilst listening to the music and the laughters from the dancing floor. Mother loved music. Dancing would be her favourite past-time.

* * *

I remember that era; it was filled with colours and romance. There was something different in people's behaviour. The way they'd dress... I recall looking forward to growing up. The women were dressed as queens in my childish mind. The silk and the satin...

Dancing couples is what I remember the most. William and I would sneak out secretly, after our old nanny would fall asleep on that chair, to see the guests. We'd admire the dancing couples. Sometimes, we'd dance as well. Both in our long nightgowns.

In our minds, he would be the prince and I the princess. We'd dance, celebrating our engagement. Dreaming of a glorious wedding. We'd be good rulers. Fair. Our people would love us. To our world, Mother would be the Empress and Father the Emperor. They'd be the ones dancing the most spectacular of waltzes. Mother's dresses would be the most colourful, the most beautiful. She was always dressed in white. White and blue. With many details. Like a bride. It was easy to tell her from the crowd. Women in green dresses, purple ones, grey ones, brown ones...

The princesses and the queens. With Mother enjoying her throne.

Politicians and businessmen would be regular guests in our house. Father's career as a merchant required good relations with both. He was even willing to stand his wife's dancing parties as long as it was providing him with more money.

He was a greedy one, Father. Not even his love for God would stop him.

He would convince William to make the Hepburn name powerful. To become a politician. I was in front when he'd be told that. I wasn't even six years old.

As for me, I was raised differently. As soon as William turned nine, we slept in separate rooms. My brother had his own bed chamber in the third floor of the house. Of course, I was forbidden entrance there. A girl never saw a man's quarters. Especially when she was hardly allowed out of her nursery.

I would properly meet with my parents thrice a week. On separate days. Father would see me on Mondays and Thursdays, Mother on Tuesdays and Fridays. Sometimes on Saturdays. Sundays as well, for both parents. At nights. For the nightly prayers.

Until I turned eight.

* * *

Mother had walked into the nursery that day, with an unknown woman standing behind her. I remember her. She was dressed in black; she had a stern glance. The Nanny taking care of me had grown old. Naturally, I had imagined her to be the new Nanny, although Mother said otherwise:

"Ruth, I would like to introduce you to Mrs. Michaels. Mrs. Michaels will be your governess. She will be teaching you all you need to know in order to be accepted into society. Now, Mrs. Michaels, I would like to ask you to bring her to me before lunch."

I did not like the governess. She was a very strict woman. Good old Nanny! She hadn't prepared me for that day. Now she had to leave, and I couldn't even say good bye.

Mrs. Michaels begun her tutoring by describing all she would do and all that was expected of me. I stared at her; I was overwhelmed by what she was asking of me. However, I was too afraid of her to oppose. I had to listen carefully. Or the witch would turn me into a beast. So would Nanny say.

I remember, I had was anticipating lunch time a lot that day. Never before had Mother asked me to appear downstairs.

* * *

To say that I was stunned at the room would be an underestimation. I felt like a real princess in her castle. The big windows in the room were allowing the sunshine inside the house. I could see the mahogany furniture, the grand portraits of my ancestors hanging on the walls, the fine tapestry...

Once again I was reminded of the image of Mother being the Empress sitting on her throne. Indeed she was. Dressed in her lavish beige day dress, with her red hair styled in a bun, she was sitting by the top of the table. The moment Mrs. Michaels and I walked in, she looked at us and pointed at me to sit opposite her. Mrs. Michaels left soon after, remembering to close the door behind her.

As soon as we were left alone, Mother said:

"How did you find your new governess? I shall expect much from her, even more from you. You are no longer a girl, nor shall you behave as one. First of all, you ought to improve your posture. Straighten up. Do not let your back touch the chair. That's better. Now, I asked you a question to which I expect an answer. How did you find your new governess?"

I knew I needed to reply. I was taught that responses should not be given late.

"I find her quite a good teacher, Mother. I am pleased with her."

"Quite... Quite and good and pleased, all in the same sentence. Ruth dear, I am afraid you still have a long way ahead of you. Your use of adjectives is important. You do not want to appear as a foolish country girl at a dinner with diplomats and merchants. Am I understood?"

"Y...yes, Mother..."

"Good. Your education shall start today. I will make sure personally that you are educated well. I have already informed your governess on your schedule. You shall spend the mornings with her and the afternoons with me. But. Today shall be the sole exception to the rule!"

She rang the small bell next to her plate. Two servants appeared, bringing the food.

It smelled wonderful. The governess was strict when it came to the meals. I would only have breakfast and then lunch, no mealtime in-between. Poor Nanny, she'd be panicked about my health the minute she'd listen about it!

Grabbing the spoon, I moved on to take the first mouthful. Until I heard Mother's voice:

"Put it down."

I was taken aback by it.

"Ruth... I think I said something."

I did as instructed.

"No real lady eats her food like some hungry dog. The servant had not even walked away when your spoon touched the soup. Do eat your food like a normal person. Without making any noise. Remember not to change your posture!"

* * *

This was the way it would go from then on. I would be taught by Mrs. Michaels in the mornings and for two hours after lunch. Then, I would spend the rest of the day being educated by Mother.

My younger self would have thought the times spent with Mother were heavenly; I was taught how to be an empress by the Empress. However, Mother was a very strict teacher. She required that everything is done perfectly. Not a single mistake.

Every two weeks, we would go shopping. Mother insisted that a lady never appeared in the same dress thrice, no matter how lovely this dress was or how beautiful she looked in it. Soon enough, my ribbons were replaced with hats. My skirts got longer. Before I realized it, my hair would be styled in a bun.

Every Sunday, we would all go to church. I would be dressed in black. Same as Mother; and everyone else. Father had very fixed views when it came to that; no other colours were allowed. Yet, we were still asked to recite parts of the Bible every other day.

I would take my meals with my parents and William.

William and I would grow apart. Even more each year.

A girl was not supposed to engage in the same activities as a boy.

I was slowly becoming like the Empress of my dreams; like Mother.

Yet, I did not enjoy it. In fact, I hardly recognized myself.

A lot had changed in those five years, indeed.

* * *

I knew I would have to leave one day; Mother had been preparing me for that day since I was nine years old. I would have to be sent to Switzerland, to join a finishing school, as soon as I turned thirteen. I would return to Washington DC two years later for my débutante's ball.

I was excited about leaving home. I would have more freedom than William ever did. He had to stay there, he had to continue his education with his tutors. Mrs. Michaels had taught me well; she was extremely pleased with me. As for Mother, she had informed be about my education there. I suppose my joy overcame my stress for the new experience that lay ahead.

* * *

I still remember the day I boarded the ship to France. I had been there before, on those family summer holidays. However nothing could be compared to that. It's an entirely different sensation when you go to a completely different place on your own. No rules to be followed.

Freedom is what every thirteen year old girl longs for.

Mrs. Michaels would come with me. The weeks that would follow would be the last ones we'd spend together.

Both my parents escorted me to the port.

The Empress still appeared powerful.

The Princess ought to follow.


	3. A Fiery Youth

There was a time when I was feeling the most youthful. My rebellious years. When the delicate flower turned into a wild one, found in the tallest mountains.

It didn't last for long. Springs and summers aren't meant to last forever. Yet, I enjoyed it. It was an adventure. I remember, how much you loved them. I never shared this one with you, whatever was the need to? You knew the world we were living in, the strings too much attached on us to share our memories openly.

But now, there is no danger. No walls hearing every words of mine.

Yes, I was a rebel. I did far more scandalous things than you.

What do you have to say about that, my dear child?

* * *

I still remember my long trip to Lausanne. As soon as Mrs. Michaels and I arrived in Southampton, we boarded another ship for Marseilles. From there, we would travel to Lausanne on train.

It was an endless trip that lasted three days. However, the morning of our arrival, I was feeling more energized than usual. I was finally in Europe! For two years, I would be away from Father's strict rules and Mother's painful lessons. Although I already missed them, I did not wish to go back. A whole new world was unfolding in front of me, one I had to discover. To conquer, as Father would say.

Mrs. Michaels took me to the finishing school I was to attend on our second day in Switzerland. Naturally, she demanded that I spoke French constantly. English was something I should forget about until the day the lessons started. Father had sent me to Switzerland for that very reason. "A Hepburn girl should speak French as fluently as she speaks English".

I was impressed by it all; the city alone looked like those drawings at home that Father so dearly cherished. Those representing medieval Europe, with the tall castles reaching the sea. I was asking poor Mrs. Michaels every single thing, from the history of this city to the names of every street. She would respond to most of my questions as enthusiastically as I was asking. However, when she felt they escaped the boundaries of what I should know, she would say that it was knowledge I should hardly ever need. Even so, she had taken me to as many sights as possible, thus curing my endless curiosity.

She left two days after I had settled into the school. Since it was a private institution, Father had spent a great deal of money to ensure I had my own chamber in the student's dormitory. Only a minority of the students could enjoy such a luxury, for most should share. Needless to say, it was an all-girls school. Its students were daughters of some of Europe and America's richest and most noble families.

My room was certainly smaller and less luxurious than the one I had in Washington DC. Yet, it was functional. I had a small closet for my dresses, a desk with a book case and a small bathroom with all the necessities. As for the school, it was pretty much how I had imagined it to be. Dark coloured walls, no decorations in the classrooms except for maps and a huge dining room for all the students. An institution strictly founded for research.

The courses started on a Monday in September, at eight fifteen in the morning. I remember how extremely early it had felt, having to wake up at seven o'clock, in order to have plenty of time to wear the awful blue uniforms we had been given, for breakfast was being served at seven thirty. My first ever class was embroidery. It was something easy for me, it was one of the lessons the Empress had been teaching me. It felt odd, wearing the same thing as every other girl. But it also made me feel more comfortable. It created the illusion of equality, made us all believe we were the same.

All girls in class were my age. However, I was the only American. I had heard some girls speaking French but I was not interested in becoming friends with them. I thought my freedom would have been more enjoyable if I spent these years on my own. Such a fool I was!

* * *

Her name was Blanche. She was my first and only friend.

She was beautiful. With long blonde hair, marvellous grey eyes... I had never seen such a colour before. She was something exotic. Always on her own, holding a book. She was dressed like the rest of us, yet, she was different. She never wore the white ribbon we all had to wear. She wore shorter skirts; we could see her ankles. She despised hats. She never hid her face from the sun, which made her eyes appear silver. She seemed too smart to be a part of this absent-minded world. Too real for it. One of these fairies in those children's stories.

* * *

I met her on a Sunday morning in the school's gardens. Wishing to draw, I sat next to her on the bench. Though I had acknowledged her presence, I was soon concentrated on my task at hand. I would not talk to her. Although I did not know what was so interesting about these oak tress, I continued drawing them, giving them shape and form on paper.

She was the one to talk first:

"Nice work you're doing there. Has anyone taught you to draw so nicely?"

Her accent stood out:

"You're British?"

"And you're American. Funny, isn't it? The two sides of the Atlantic meeting here, on this very bench!"

I smiled. I was impressed by her way of speaking. She was proud, yet likeable.

"You have lovely hair", she said after a while.

"Thank you..."

I did feel uncomfortable, I must admit. But it was caused by her immediate friendliness.

"I like it, very much. You should wear it down more often. Looks like fire running free on your shoulders, never burning you... And it smells of lavender!"

The Empress' beauty rules were still strictly followed. Hard as it was without help, I would still wash my hair with lavender water. Mother would be sending the bottles to me once every month.

Blanche laughed when I told her that.

"Though my favourite flower is a dahlia. Rare and complicated. Like a very strange kind of a rose. What is yours?"

"I- I do not know, I doubt I have one..."

"You look like someone who likes roses. Red ones especially. Pretty on the outside, yet with thorns on the inside. Why don't you draw a rose?"

"There is none around."

"Oh. Well then, I guess I would have to find one for you. Would certainly make a better drawing than those boring trees."

We both laughed; this was the beginning of our friendship.

* * *

In the following days, we were seen spending time together on many different occasions. I slowly felt all the more comfortable being around that very strange girl with the shorter skirts. For once, I was happy! Blanche might have been different, with her hatred about embroidery and her ankles in plain sight, but she seemed to see the world the way I would see it. So many things yet to learn, so many places to explore!

Never, not even for once, would I dare imagine that this rebellious girl would be... odd.

My other classmates, however, had a different opinion.

A French girl had whispered so in my ear, during one of the lessons:

"I have heard that this... girl.. you are spending time with is... She is not interested in boys. She must be crazy. Have you never noticed that she wears shorter skirts and hardly wears a corset?"

Yes, I had noticed all these details. But was it possible that she could have been dangerous?

I kept thinking of our meetings over and over again. No, she was just like any other girl. A little more talkative perhaps and certainly a rebel, but she wasn't crazy! She wasn't interested in girls! She couldn't have been that sick...

However, I decided to play on the safe side. What if Father found out about this unusual friend of mine? I did not want to leave Switzerland, not since it had started feeling like home.

I tried to avoid Blanche. As much as possible. What if this sickness was contagious? What if I also ended up... odd? Such a thing was incurable, wasn't it?

Of course, she had noticed. I hardly appeared in the gardens any more, preferring to spend my free time in my dorm room. Thus she could only see me during lessons, a time when discussions were strictly forbidden. But she had found ways to get my attention. She would wish to talk to me, or she would leave me little notes before we walked out of the classroom. I would either tear them up or not show up for this discussion she so wanted us to have. This went on for four days.

On the fifth night, she had come knocking on my door. Escaping her dorm room during our bed time, she broke the rules. She asked me what was wrong, why I seemed to be avoiding her lately. When I told her the rumour about her, she laughed:

"I honestly thought you were smart! What if I am indeed not interested in boys? Who is to worry about it but me and me alone? I would never force you into doing anything you did not wish to do!"

Walking closer to me, she took both my hands in hers. Her hands were soft, yet beautiful. Like those of a porcelain doll.

"I truly wish for us to remain friends." she added. "Good friends. This way I can help you escape this boring world your mind is trapped in."

Her words shocked me. I had tried to refuse the truth they carried, but I could not hide for long. I thought I had known life, but all I knew was Mother's gowns and fine manners along with Father's prayers and strict glance. I had known no other world than that of the riches, where the poor were nothing but "scum", a "useful bad thing". There was safety in there. And I was a slave.

* * *

In the months that followed, I kept changing. Gone was the girl with the childish dreams, who wanted to become the new Empress to a non-existent land. I had become a rebel; a woman in my own right. Blanche was my partner in crime.

It started with my refusal to wear the white ribbon of the school uniform. I grew to love the way my hair looked without it. Like fire touching the ocean, to quote Blanche. Slowly, I was wearing my corset all the more loose. How beautiful it felt, being free to breathe again! And in the evenings, when I was on my own in the dorm room, I would walk around barefoot, dancing on the cold wooden floor.

Of course it did not go unnoticed. There was gossip about us, some dreadful rumours that would shock even you. But the teachers did not seem to care or notice. I was one of the richest girls in school and both Blanche and I were excellent students. They could not afford losing us; thus we could continue our common exploration of the world.

* * *

We were unstoppable; judging everything we were taught. Knowledge was to be doubted, rules to be broken, religions to make you hopeless. We would interpret the ancient Greek philosophers we were taught according to our own liking, according to how we wished to change the world. The women would be free, we would say. Marriage would be made due to their own free will, not as a social obligation. Love was a right everyone was entitled to, no matter the gender they were interested in. As for the Bible, it presented as holy all the sins it forbade us. Mary Magdalene was a saint; Jesus was her lover.

The hugs Blanche and I would exchange, the playful caresses of ours in her nightly visits to my dorm room, these were not a sin. I had not fallen ill with the same kind of sickness she was said to be suffering from. It was only natural that we wished to express our friendship by holding each other close, whispering to each other our dreadful opinions.

That was the end of our innocence.

But there was still a task left to accomplish.

Escape this dreadful prison of ours; face the world as it really was.

* * *

We dared do so for the first time only eight months after we had both first arrived here.

We would walk around town; explore its least reputable places. It took place on a Friday night; the only day the gardens were left unguarded. I lent Blanche an evening gown of mine and she helped me with my make-up and I with her bun. We would wear our uniforms over the dresses. The school was not far from the city centre.

Maybe it was the danger of getting caught that had made my heart beat wildly that night. I could have very easily returned to my dorm room, but I knew I would have regretted it had I not seen the town.

Blanche helped me climb the iron gate. She held my hand as we both ran, barefoot, our heeled boots in hand, as far away from the school as possible.

Our first stop was a night bar. Blanche's idea. I had never heard that funny word before.

"It's where my uncle goes every time he wants to escape his wife! There's lots of drinking there and many men, but don't worry. I heard there are women too."

"Your uncle?"

"Have you forgotten? My parents are dead. My mother's brother has adopted me, but certainly, he and his wife have better things to do than care about me."

I drew a deep breath. How could two fourteen year old girls be allowed to a place filled with older men?

But we could fool everyone. It's strange what some rouge and red lipstick can do. How they can turn a girl into a woman.

I still remember that place. A small overcrowded room, filled with smoke and the strong smell of alcohol. The music was loud and fast; it was classical, yet I could not recognize the piece. A small orchestra was playing, with couples dancing wherever there was free space. The women wore awfully long feathers, while the men were still wearing their hats. Blanche would not let go of my hand.

"Let them think we're of that kind of girls" she said. "We don't want to end up next to any of them."

Red wine was the first alcoholic beverage I had ever tasted. It was offered to me by the man behind the counter, for, as he said, I had a pretty smile.

"He likes you" Blanche said. "But we should not stay here for long, we need to go elsewhere too!"

We went to another bar. Then another, and another. We were always allowed inside, always being passed for older. It was the same picture everywhere. Smoke and feathers; alcohol and music. An entirely different world to my family house or the finishing school.

I even stole that night. Some cigarettes from a poor man's pocket. Blanche ran away with some money. Her hair were askew and her breath was uneven. I had not asked her what she had done. She only took my hand and walked with me outside.

"These men are such big fools!" she said later, as I was bursting out laughing. On our way back to the school, she would tell me the story of how she had discovered a drunk man in a corner and, pretending she loved him, she stole the most money he had on him, within only a few minutes.

How long had it been since we had escaped? None of us knew. But as long as the stars were still bright, there was no danger for us. Our school uniforms were safely hidden behind a bush, a few meters away from the school's gates.

Upon arriving outside the school, we discovered our uniforms still there, safe and sound. We put them once more over our dresses, got rid of our long gloves and we fixed our hair before climbing back inside the gate. We went directly to our rooms, each on their own, trying to hold back our laughters for the night's adventure.

This was repeated again, twice, always on the same night, in the same way and with the same destination. We chose not to do it frequently, for safety reasons. We were already planning our third night around town. A letter, however, had changed our plans.

* * *

The Empress had written, telling me that she is "indeed very glad for my excellent progress at school" and that she shall come and pick me up, "along with two of her most trusted maids". Due to my education coming to an end and my fifteenth birthday in only a few weeks, there was no further need for me to stay in Switzerland. According to her, I had to return to Washington DC, to make my official appearance to society as a débutante.

I was furious when I read that letter. I wanted to burn it; tear it into a million pieces. I did not wish for this time to end. Going back would only mean returning to a boring life of meaningless dreams and forced feelings. No more escaping, or exploring. For I would no longer be a stranger amongst strangers. The Hepburns were well known; I had to protect the family's reputation.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair were falling free on my shoulders, "a fire in a deep blue ocean". The Empress should not see me like that; it was not appropriate. The white ribbon was on my desk, yet I would not touch it. For the few remaining weeks of my freedom, I would not put it on. Blanche had been calling me "fiery red Rose". I insisted I should stay thus. I deserved that, at least.

It was not easy telling Blanche. How can you say goodbye to someone who knows you better than you know yourself? We were to each other the sisters each of us had chosen. Such ties are always stronger than blood ones. For they change you; they recreate you, to reveal your true self. That's why people fall in love. Make friends. There are no honest bonds in a biologically homogeneous family. If they are, they are not as strong as those between your chosen relatives.

Blanche wept. She had held me close and stained my uniform with her tears. We both knew we would never see each other again. Sometimes, the greatest loves are short-lived. If they fight to last for longer, they are cursed with a terrible end; for both sides.

The night before my departure, she came to my dorm room. Neither of us spoke. We just looked into each other's eyes. We were both amazed by how both of us had changed in only two years. How the small girls had turned into women. Flowers ready to blossom.

I had given her my gift; an embroidered dahlia. She gave me a book. On its first page, she wrote, in her very pretty cursive handwriting:

 _Thank you for the lovely memories. May you always be a fiery red rose. Love, your crazy dahlia._

* * *

If I could choose one age of my life to be relived in heaven, I would choose this one. My rebellious youth, my only years of freedom. The only time I had lived as Ruth Elizabeth Hepburn, the girl that wanted to feel life. They ended as they had started. With me on my way to a foreign country, constantly a changed person.

I have no more memorabilia of Blanche.

Just the book she had given me. _Great Expectations._

I never heard of her again.

But people like like us should learn to leave the past behind. It's the only way of moving forward.

* * *

I left Switzerland on my fifteenth birthday. I was dressed in a green dress, embroidered with white lace. I was wearing a hat. A small green bonnet. It was the last time I would appear in public with my hair down.

The Empress was standing by my side. I was Miss Hepburn again.

The girl going by the rules.

But she no longer dreamed of becoming an Empress.

She was a fire on her own.


End file.
